


Hell Hath a Fury

by blackchaps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Compliance, Dom/sub, Exhaustion, Fury's a dick, M/M, collaring, regulations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: Clint doesn't think he's ready for a collar, and Coulson isn't ready to push the issue. Fury is sick and tired of the drama.





	Hell Hath a Fury

**Author's Note:**

> This story didn't do one thing I asked of it. I apologize for what you're expecting. This probably isn't it.

*******  
Tired didn’t begin to cover it, or describe it, or even touch the surface of the exhaustion that lived in every fiber of Phil’s aching body. His feet dragged and he pressed his forehead against the doorjamb as he fumbled his key into the lock.

As he turned it became apparent that his key hadn’t been required, and he would’ve drawn his gun, except that he could smell something burning. That meant Clint was in the kitchen, and the smoke alarm would be going off soon enough.

No matter how much he longed for his bed, it appeared that Clint had other ideas. Phil tried and failed to square his shoulders, shutting the door with his heel and putting his briefcase by the door in its usual spot. Six months he’d been in this apartment in Washington, D.C., and he liked it. He really didn’t want it burned down.

Right on schedule, the smoke alarm went off. Two seconds later, a dripping wet Clint came bolting down the hallway. He snatched a quick kiss and pelted into the kitchen, cursing in two languages and yelling about how everything was fine. Any other day, Phil would’ve smiled, slipped off his tie, and gone to help.

Today was not that day. Too much of everything perched on Phil’s shoulders, and he hadn’t even dealt with that ominous stack of paperwork that had appeared on his desk while he’d been in a last-minute meeting.

“I know this looks bad, but it’s not!” Clint dashed into the living room and slid to his knees in front of Phil. “Hi.”

Clint was damn adorable, and he knew it. Phil was the Dom in their relationship, and he did a terrible job at it because he never managed to curb even the slightest of Clint’s excesses, of which there were many, as evidenced in Clint’s file. What they had wasn’t really a relationship, either. They played. That was all. Clint refused to discuss anything else and was known to say that a collar would give him the hives.

Phil felt his hand tremble as he tugged down his tie. He was so tired he had the shakes, and if he were smart he’d say nothing and head to bed.

“Whatever they said at work today. That’s not how it happened, I swear.” Clint grinned up at him, eyes twinkling.

And now, Phil knew the stack of paperwork on his desk was about Clint. Another mess to clean up, and Phil said the only words that his brain could spit out. “If you can’t be the sub I need, pack your duffle and get out.”

“Phil?” Clint went from teasing and mischievous to crushed in a blink.

“I can’t do this.” The muscles in Phil’s stomach fluttered. “Play this game.” He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. They were adults, damn it, and he needed attention, maybe some pampering. What he didn’t need was one mess after another. He loved him. He did, but it didn’t seem like it mattered. “I just can’t.”

What Phil expected was Clint to get to his feet, help him take off his coat, and coax him into bed. They’d talk tomorrow, make it better. He shuddered out a deep breath, needing that. Instead, Clint scuttled out of room, there was a crash or two, and Phil’s feet seemed glued to the floor.

The door opened and shut behind him, and Phil closed his eyes. Clint was gone. He wasn’t interested in sticking around, unless they were playing out a scene. He didn’t care. That was clear.

********

Feeling like the time he’d been punched in the kidney, Clint was breathless when he hit the front door of the building. He didn’t remember running down thirteen flights of stairs, but he had. Of course, he’d known this day would come, but he hadn’t thought it was actually be today. He’d gone to Phil’s place to make sure his version of the story was heard first, and he’d tried to cook a nice meal, but as usual, everything had gone to shit.

He’d expected a spanking, maybe a stress position, not a brisk declaration that he was crap sub and a toss on his ass. The Washington D.C. air hit his lungs hard, making him cough, and for one full second, he had no idea where to go. He and Phil didn’t live together, of course not, but he was used to crashing at Phil’s new apartment. It was nice. So much better than his tiny room at the Triskelion that smelled like bleach, or his quarters on the helicarrier that he shared with two other guys. It had never made sense for him to have an apartment, not when his schedule was the definition of a clusterfuck.

The cold wind whipped around the corner of the building, slapping him in the face, and he looked up at what he knew was Phil’s window. The light was still on. Clint could go back, and maybe if he crawled, Phil would… forgive him? For being a screwup?

That would never happen, but Clint loved him. He did. Not that it mattered. Phil was the best Dom: the only Dom who had ever asked, instead of trying to force. He’d looked tired. They worked in the same organization but at very different levels. Clint was a tool. Phil handled situations Clint might never have clearance to know about, and that was okay.

A car blasted by, honking its horn, and Clint flinched. His hair was half-frozen. He shivered, facing the uncomfortable truth that he had no idea what to do or where to go. Seeing Phil at the Triskelion tomorrow – it happened – made him want to puke, so he shouldered his duffle a little higher and went to find a cab. He’d head to the pickup point. A quinjet to the helicarrier would be along.

*********

Fury never meddled in his agent’s lives. Well, almost never, but he’d seen Coulson’s face, gray with exhaustion, and checking on him was something any friend would do. They’d lost a fine agent today. A woman Coulson had helped bring up through the ranks, and her death had been nothing but bad timing on an op that had gone well. As he grew older, those deaths seemed to be the hardest.

A quick tap, and the front view of Coulson’s office popped up on his laptop. He wasn’t there, nothing but a pile of paperwork, centered on the desk. Fury sighed. Clint Barton was bored again, and a bored Barton was a very dangerous thing. Coulson kept covering for him, paying for damages when necessary, but that wasn’t going to last forever. Barton required a Dom willing to make him behave, and Coulson wasn’t that Dom. Coulson wanted Barton to behave out of respect and devotion, but Barton wasn’t in that head space, not yet and maybe not ever. It was a problem.

Hitting his intercom button, Fury said, “Hill, have someone pull that paperwork off Coulson’s desk and put it on mine.”

“Yes, sir.”

This time, Barton was going to get the punishment he deserved. Fury wondered if they were together tonight. If Coulson was home, being pampered by his loving sub, then that paperwork and the punishment that went with it might disappear. Feeling not one bit of guilt, he tapped in a password and waited for the cameras to show him.

Coulson was alone in his apartment, slumped down on his sofa with his hands over his face. The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in it, and there was no sign of Barton. Fury tugged out his cell phone. “Call Cheese.”

“I’ve asked you not to use the cameras,” Coulson growled into the phone when he picked up.

“Get some sleep. Please.” Fury saved that word for very special occasions.

“Jerk.” Coulson thumbed off his phone, but he was up and moving towards his bedroom, after giving his kitchen a baleful glare. Fury sent a cleaning crew to deal with that mess. He’d be paying for interfering, but it’d be worth it. Now, the question that remained was where Barton had scampered off to after blowing up Coulson’s kitchen. That thought sent his fingers to the rewind button, and he watched as Coulson tried to make Barton understand, and Barton ran away because he didn’t listen.

Snapping the video off, Fury pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and tried not to see the devastated look on his friend’s face. It didn’t work. He was going to have to goddamn fix this, and neither of them was ever going to forgive him.

“Hill, get me Barton.”

There was a long pause while she walked to his office. She stopped inside the door and crossed her arms. “I thought we agreed he was doing better at the Triskelion.”

Fury got to his feet and shut his laptop hard enough to snap the hinge. She winced and then nodded. “Do you want him with a bow on top?”

“I’m invoking section seven, sub-paragraph three, of the Director’s Code.” Fury hated his life. “Was that an archery pun? Why do you make me want to cry? Get out. Get Barton.”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t move. “Horrible pun, I agree. And I’m taking some vacation, maybe a month.”

“No damn way. If I’m going to suffer, so are you.”

********

There were a number of ways Hill could carry out her order. She could send security. She could tell Coulson to bring Barton in, or she could text Barton and hope for the best. Mulling it over, she strolled to her computer and pinged the transponder in his shoulder. From the looks of it, Barton was headed straight to the pickup point, which solved one problem neatly.

She tapped her headset. “Operations, please ensure a quinjet is waiting for Agent Barton when he arrives at the eastern pickup point outside of Washington, D.C. Deliver him to the helicarrier, ASAP.”

There was a quick acknowledgement, and she strolled to gather up her tablet. She needed to re-read the Director’s Code and make sure the letter of the law was met.

Fifteen minutes later, she looked up, staring in horror. “Shit.”

********

Before the ramp dropped, Clint scrubbed his face hard and got to his feet with a groan. He absolutely hadn’t been crying. Some subs were weepy. He wasn’t. If Coulson didn’t want him, Clint would accept it and go on with his life. He repeated it twice more in his head to make sure he had the words memorized in case someone asked.

Coulson would tell everyone in the morning. Doms did that. The ramp eased down, and Clint didn’t take a step towards the security contingent that moved into position. At their front was Deputy Director Maria Hill, and the look on her face told Clint everything he needed to know about the rest of his evening.

“Please escort Agent Barton to interrogation room four.” She paused. “And present him for a submissive disciplinary hearing.”

His protestations locked up in his throat and his feet refused to move. He swallowed. “If they touch me, you’d better tell medical they’ll have incoming.”

Hill didn’t look shocked. “If you refuse their orders, you will be forced to comply.” She narrowed her eyes. “We have the right to do so.”

“Screw your rights.” Clint swung his duffle on his back and headed for interrogation. He knew the way. About a dozen questions raced around his brain, but he wasn’t saying anything until he knew why he was being disciplined. Innocent until proven guilty was still a thing. One of the security guards opened the door, and Clint tossed his bag in the corner.

“Shirt off. Kneel. Place the cuffs on your wrists.”

Clint stripped his coat off to land on his duffle and his shirt quickly followed. Thick chains were hooked to an eyebolt in the floor, and if he put the cuffs on, it might take a minute to get them off. “This is so stupid.”

“Are you resisting?”

“Do you want to get punched?” Clint took several long stretches and then flowed to his knees, snapping on the cuffs before he thought about it too long. The guards marched out and shut the door behind them, leaving him to worry. He’d thought Hill would be here to question him, but she was nowhere in sight. It was late, long after midnight, and he was tired, too tired for this crap. He shook out his shoulders, relaxing his arms into his crotch. Taking a deep breath, he folded his legs into a more comfortable sitting position.

Time dribbled away, and he did nothing but breathe. He could play this game. If Coulson found out about this… Clint grimaced, remembering that he’d screwed that up. Clint didn’t have anyone in his corner tonight.

The door opened, and Clint had to stop himself from cringing. Fury looked pissed.

********

Fury watched Barton settle into a resting position. Making him wait wasn’t a tactic because it wouldn’t work. Barton expected abuse, prepared for it every waking moment of the day, and wouldn’t be affected by it, except maybe to get extra angry. But Fury needed a minute to wade through the paperwork and track down the facts, and the more he read, the more he wanted to growl.

The first six months Barton had worked at SHIELD, he’d mastered everything they’d thrown at him. Nothing had slowed him down, and the dominants had lined up, panting after him. He’d rejected them all until Fury had made the mistake of sending him on a mission with Coulson as handler. They’d been fucking within twenty-four hours, and Fury still had the video to prove it. Fury had assumed Coulson would collar him, and they’d make a formidable team. Instead, they’d spent two years screwing on every continent, and Barton had two reputations: a good one on the job, and a terrible one during downtime.

Sighing, Fury rubbed his forehead. He’d drastically underestimated Barton’s trust issues and Coulson’s Dom rating. Assertiveness on a mission apparently didn’t mean a tiger in the bedroom. Fury shut his eyes and forced himself to stop thinking about it. It was none of his damn business, except that their sex dynamics made everyone else miserable.

What he should do was fire their asses.

Or he could fix it. Damn it. One more time, he shouldn’t, but he did, he checked on Coulson, who had face-planted onto his bed, still dressed, except for one shoe, and that made up Fury’s mind.

Thirty minutes later, armed with numbers, Fury made his way down to the interrogation room. Whispers trailed him, and he had no doubt there was a betting pool giving out odds that Barton would be out of work within the hour. If only it were that easy. He strode through the door, and saw worry flit across Barton’s face before he straightened his shoulders and tried for his trademark grin.

“As a submissive in this organization, you have the right for a dominant to speak for you in a disciplinary hearing. Do you have a Dom to do so?” Fury couldn’t stop himself from growling out the words, grabbing a chair and moving it so he could sit a few feet away from his kneeling agent. Looming over Barton would accomplish nothing.

Barton shrugged. “No, sir.”

“Are you contracted with any Dom?”

“No.” Barton had his teeth clenched.

Fury let him simmer a minute. “Not even a play collar?” There was no answer, and Fury nodded. “Fine. You’re a good agent, Barton, but this hearing isn’t about that.” He saw some of the tension drain out of Barton’s shoulders. “This is about your behavior as a submissive in this organization.”

“This is bullshit.” Barton wasn’t stupid enough to glare at him.

“Tucked inside that contract you signed is a paragraph detailing what can happen to a submissive that I deem is a danger to Shield. Guess what? As of today, you qualify.” Fury kept his gaze on him, pushing him. “This happened once before, about six years ago. A submissive made my life hell, pulling pranks, running wild, and her Dom did nothing to stop her.”

“So, you shot them?” Barton snarked.

Fury barked a laugh, sure that Barton would never lose his spunk. “Wanted to, but instead, I pulled them in here, put that submissive right where you’re kneeling, and you know how I punished her?”

“Talked at her for hours?” Barton flashed a grin.

“Saving that one for an emergency. No, I put her Dom against that wall and beat him with a strap until he cried. The Dom wept like a baby, and that submissive never gave me a bit of trouble again. You see, she was a pain in the ass, but she loved her Dom.” Fury paused to make sure Barton was listening. “And that won’t work with you. You don’t love anyone, much less the Dom who tops you when you’re in the mood for a bit of fun.”

Expecting a surge up, perhaps a kick, Fury waited, but all Barton did was freeze. His head lowered until he was staring at his hands, and if he were breathing, Fury couldn’t see it. Barton finally sucked in a breath through his teeth, clenching his hands into fists.

Rocking up to his feet, Fury put his hands on his knees and whispered in Barton’s ear, “If you did care, Coulson wouldn’t be passed out on his bed with only one shoe on!” He could admit he enjoyed the flinch that his tone of voice produced.

“He threw me out. Said I was a crap sub.” Barton ground out the words, stopping to gulp between sentences.

Hearing his theory made fact didn’t bring Fury any pleasure. He had work to do, and here he was, taking time for this bullshit. “I guess your name is Hawkeye, not Hawkears.” He sat back down in the chair, crossed his legs, and stared up at the ceiling, giving Barton a little space. “In the last six months, you’ve managed to piss off nearly every agent on the helicarrier with your pranks, and somehow you’ve managed to cost Shield nearly sixty thousand dollars. Coulson picked up the check for the first two incidences.”

A little gasp escaped Barton’s lips, and Fury glared down at him now. “That little food fight you orchestrated at the Triskelion? That? Will cost me twenty grand in replacement costs, clean up fees, and overtime. This pisses me off.”

Barton opened his mouth and then shut it, lowering his eyes to the floor. It was the first submissive act he’d made since Fury had walked through the door. Fury’s fingers itched to smack the back of Barton’s head, but he didn’t.

“I’ll be speaking to Agent Coulson on this matter as well, but right now, your pay has been deducted the twenty thousand, and I’m invoking a little-known clause in the Director’s Code.” Fury got to his feet and swung the chair out of the way. Now, he loomed. “That means until further notice, your ass is mine.”

Barton stared up him, horror in his eyes. “You can’t.”

“I can, and I have.” Fury leaned into the words, letting his dominance wash over the submissive. “You’ll wear my collar. You’ll kneel at my boots, and you’ll sleep at the end of my bed. We’ll see how much time you have for pranks.”

“And my punishment?” Barton had his shoulders hunched.

“I just covered that.” Fury smiled, but no one would mistake it for a happy face.

“I have the right of refusal!” Barton looked a little crazy in the eyes.

“Did you even read the contract you signed?” Fury would guess Barton hadn’t. “My people have moved your things into my quarters – you paid for that, by the way – and all we have left to do is find out if you really will break into hives when I collar you.”

“No,” Barton snarled.

Fury laughed. He liked Barton’s style, always had. “You gave up that right when you acted like a total jackass. Now, own it.”

Ten long seconds ticked away, and then Barton slumped, bowing his head over his bound hands. He mumbled something, and Fury didn’t catch a word of it.

“What?” Fury dug the collar out of his inner pocket.

“Pay Coulson back out of my salary.” Barton didn’t raise his head. “Please.”

“If you think I’m dropping forty grand in Coulson’s bank account, you haven’t been listening.” Fury rolled his eyes. “Let’s see, the traditional words aren’t needed in this situation.” And he snapped the red collar around Barton’s throat, making sure the magnets fully engaged. “Good enough.”

Barton might’ve whimpered. He stretched his neck and complained, “Red? Really?”

“Really.” Fury removed the cuffs on Barton’s wrists and pulled him to his feet, holding on in case Barton’s knees were numb. “Your actions have consequences, submissive.”

“Just leave Coulson out of this.” Barton jerked away from Fury, standing firm.

Fury thought that was the dumbest thing he’d heard all week. “Don’t worry your submissive head over it.” He opened the door, found the leash in his other pocket, and clipped it on before Barton could run screaming. “Let’s go see who won the betting pool.”

“I hate you.”

“Like I give a damn.” Fury took his time, strolling back to his office and letting everyone digest the fact that Barton was collared and leashed. Hill rolled her eyes at him, and she was right, this was damn ridiculous.

********

Phil didn’t know how long he slept, and his eyes were too gummy to make out the time on his phone, but its persistent vibrating made him want to throw it. Instead, he scrubbed at one eye while lifting it. He scrolled through the message – all eighty-four of them – and each and every one of them had the name Barton in the subject line. Several had photo attachments, more than a few had video, and six had OMG next to the name.

Dread at whatever Clint had done in his anger made Phil hit delete all. Not completely awake, he stumbled to his feet, stripped down to his boxers, and got back in bed. He put his phone under his pillow, but it rang the instant he released it.

Groaning, he picked it up. “Coulson.”

“You’re on medical for three days, but I want you to attend the funeral. I’m sending the plane tickets and details over by messenger.” Fury’s voice brought Phil more awake than he’d been. “Clear?”

For a moment, Phil thought about arguing, but he owed it to his friend to go to her funeral, and his arm was trembling from holding his phone. “Fine. Have the messenger slide it under the door. I’m shutting off my phone. For some reason, everyone in Shield wants to tell me about Clint Barton today.”

“Get some rest.” Fury clicked off.

Phil shut his phone off, not something he ever did, and his eyes stubbornly refused to shut until he’d turned it back on, but he used the silence all. Two seconds later, he was asleep.

********

With no idea where Fury was taking him, Clint’s legs were moving, but he felt like he was dead. His brain wasn’t working. He couldn’t feel his hands, and his mouth kept slacking open. No one on the bridge laughed, and he rotated, nearly choking himself, trying to see everyone.

Hill had her arms crossed, but she always stood like that, and Clint wanted to ask her about the money. Coulson had paid for Clint’s screw-ups, probably in more than money. Doms who had subs who were bad employees never rose to the upper ranks. It was likely Coulson would be level seven, if it weren’t for Clint.

Suddenly, Fury stopped, and Clint knew his duty. He did. He’d never thought he’d have to do it, and Coulson had never even asked. Somewhere, Clint was sure his brother was laughing, but he fell to his knees, not caring that he landed like a sack of potatoes. Putting his hands over his face, he tried to understand why Coulson hadn’t ditched him sooner.

Fury’s words about Coulson rang in Clint’s mind over and over again. Fury had been angry that Coulson was home alone, exhausted, no one to care for him. Clint hated that too, and he would’ve helped. He would’ve. If he’d known. He hadn’t… looked. He’d been worried about himself. Guilt pounded at him, along with a healthy dose of shame. Coulson had needed him, and he’d done nothing but cause more problems. Clint bit his lip, eyes darting to see who was staring at him. No one. They were all working, too professional to care about a misbehaving sub. Anyway, Clint knew every sub on the helicarrier and nearly all of them would like to be right where he was. Fury wasn’t a Dom. He was The Dom, and he’d never collared anyone, until now.

Clint had sworn he’d never wear a collar. Once or twice, he’d made sure Coulson overheard him say it. He was an idiot, pure and simple.

“Up.” Fury started walking again, and Clint bumbled along behind him, trying not to clip Fury’s heels. This time, Fury planted his butt in his office chair. Clint stood there for a long minute. Fury opened his laptop and started working. He didn’t even look over his shoulder.

“I left my duffle in the interrogation room,” Clint said, afraid to bring up Coulson again.

Fury didn’t glance at him, or acknowledge him in any way. Clint found another sentence. “Can I have a copy of my contract to read?”

Now, Fury glared at the computer. He reached for his phone, and Clint flinched before he realized it was ridiculous. Fury dialed and waited.

“You’re on medical for three days, but I want you to attend the funeral. I’m sending the plane tickets and details over by messenger,” Fury said. “Clear?”

It had to be Coulson on the other end, and Clint wanted to yell for help, but his throat tightened, and he couldn’t even seem to breathe. Coulson was hurt, and someone important to him had died, and Clint had been starting a food fight in the cafeteria for fun. He slid down to his knees against the side of the desk and curled over himself.

“Get some rest.” Fury hung up the phone with a hard click. “Barton, your duffle will be taken to my quarters. I can have someone from legal come up here and explain your contract, if you want.”

“No,” Clint strangled out the word. He shut his eyes and decided two things: one, he’d apologize to Coulson when he saw him, and two, he didn’t have the right to do more than that. Clint had no idea how long he knelt there, but at some point, Fury pulled him up, and they were moving again.

Before Clint knew it, he was cleaner, stripped naked, and pointed in the direction of Fury’s bed. He went, no questions asked, but he was relieved to see that Fury had a traditional king-sized bed with a submissive futon in a specially-made trough at the foot of it. It was about the size of a twin bed, bigger than his cot down in his shared quarters, and the luxurious bedding surprised him.

“Do I have to push you down? Go to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.”

Clint managed a nod and crawled under the covers. When Fury snapped off the lights, Clint pulled the comforter over his head.

********

Sleep turned Coulson loose with a jerk, and he sat up, gasping for air. He whipped his head around, looking for Clint, to keep him safe, before reality slammed into him, and with a drawn-out groan, he slumped over, rubbing his face.

“Shit,” he mumbled. He’d certainly screwed that up. Clint may never speak to him again. Phil had always moved slowly and walked softly around the traumatized submissive, giving him plenty of support and room. Even a play collar was out of the question, and most Doms would’ve been insulted, but Phil loved him and tried to give him everything.

And last night, he’d screwed it up. It all crashed in on Phil’s head again: the death of his friend, a mission gone right but horribly wrong, and too many hours of work, followed by his big mouth ruining his relationship with Clint. He scrunched back under the covers and pulled them up high. Wishing for his sub accomplished nothing, but it was all he had left.

Sometime later, he didn’t check his phone for the time, he threw back the covers and stumbled his way to the shower, sick of his filth. He emerged cleaner, but still tired and buzzing with emotions that would make sleep impossible. What he needed to do was call Clint and apologize for being an overbearing douchebag, as Clint would say. He picked up his phone to do just that twice while he dressed in sweats and a hoodie, unable to even look at his suits. Both times, he put it back down. The second time, he checked his email and deleted everything again, not giving a shit. He was on medical leave and technically that meant he was unavailable.

Disgusted with himself, he paced into the living room and scooped up the flat envelope that had been slid under his door. He flipped on the coffee machine before popping it open. It was only then he remembered that his kitchen had been destroyed by another one of Clint’s futile attempts at cooking.

“Damn it, Nick.” Phil ripped the information out and scattered it across the counter. He didn’t need a fairy godfather, cleaning up his messes. The funeral was Monday, and his phone told him it was Saturday. His flight was tomorrow, and he’d been staying in a Marriot. He’d meet with her parents, of course, and he’d apologize, not that it’d help or do a damn bit of good, but it was all he could do to honor her memory.

Sometimes, he hated his job.

********

Moving before he was thinking, Clint pressed his back into a corner as he got to his feet, ready to fight. He bared his teeth, sucking in deep breaths, not knowing where the hell he was or how he’d gotten here.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Fury drawled. “I guess I’ll go start the coffee.” He tossed back the covers and padded towards the door. “Make the bed, will ya? I hate doing that.”

Clint blinked several times, and it all crashed over him again. He was collared. Coulson – Phil – had kicked him to the curb. He owed more money to Shield than his dad had made in his lifetime, and… he slid down the wall, clutching his head with his hands.    

Breathing deeply, he wished for nothing more than Coulson to be in the kitchen, making his perfect coffee. A clang brought him back to his screwed-up life, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair before heaving himself up with a groan. He found his clothes tucked away in a nearby closet and dressed quickly, hoping Fury didn’t care. Only then, with a growl, did he make the bed. It wasn’t that he was worried about a beating, but it was never smart to fight before coffee. Tradition demanded that he kneel by the end of the bed and wait to be summoned, or fucked, or whatever his Dom had in mind for the morning. Clint fled the room like he was on fire, but he tried to look casual doing it.

In his panic, he hadn’t even noticed Fury putting on a bathrobe. Seeing Fury like that made Clint look away, stopping in his tracks. His face felt hot, and he wanted nothing more than to run far away.

“You’re blushing. First, you panic like a newbie, and now you blush? I’m starting to think your reputation sits on a throne of lies.” Fury didn’t move at him. Clint watched Fury’s bare feet, and that shouldn’t be possible that Fury didn’t wear boots all the time.

“Should I follow my regular work schedule?” Clint was not discussing his reputation, and he tried to sound firm, worried he sounded like he was choking. “Or do you plan to drag me everywhere?”

“Your body is saying ‘don’t beat me’ and your mouth is asking for it.” Fury didn’t sound angry, but that didn’t mean much. “And what is your schedule?”

Caught, Clint shrugged and told the truth. “Mostly, I hang out at the range.”

Fury said nothing for a long minute. “Something else to fix,” he grumbled. “I’m hitting the shower. I expect you to drink some coffee while you wait for me.”

Clint went to do that, instead of standing there feeling like an idiot. He filled a mug, added plenty of sugar, and found a spot where he could watch for Fury while he drank his coffee. If he were spending the day on his knees, he wanted caffeine first. Coulson had medical leave for three days, plenty of time for Clint to rehearse an apology. Nothing else mattered.

********

Fury didn’t like the skittish look in Barton’s eyes. Barton had been expecting a beating, and that led Fury to the conclusion that Coulson had been treating Barton with kid gloves because he needed them. Coulson was smart, never to be underestimated, and he must’ve figured out early that Barton wouldn’t tolerate an overbearing Dom.

It was irritating as hell.

Barton needed to learn to think, and Coulson’s hands-off treatment wasn’t working. Both of them were idiots.

A quick shower, and he dressed in his usual black, seeing that the bed had been made, but it was a half-ass job at best. Given that Barton had been panicking, Fury was going to ignore it. He stomped on his boots and went to get some coffee, not missing the tiny flinch around Barton’s eyes.

“Got any hives yet?”

Barton’s hand went to the collar. “Not real sure what hives are.”

“Big red swellings, like bullseyes. Saw a guy break out all over his body one time, allergic to something he ate. Nasty.” Fury stared intently at Barton’s neck. “I don’t see any.”

“Good.” Barton stuck his face in his coffee. Fury checked the time, found his phone, and nearly sighed at the long day ahead of him, but it wouldn’t be long until Coulson would be director of Shield, and when that happened, he’d need a sub who could help him, not drive him crazy.

“Go find your leash. It’s time to go to work.”

Barton grimaced, but he trudged away, working the drama. Fury nearly laughed, refilling his cup and waiting by the door. Barton emerged with the leash trailing from his hand. Fury took it, clicked it on, and put the loop around Barton’s wrist before he had time to resist. Without a look back, Fury headed for the bridge. He had Barton off-balance, and he’d follow, for now. Later, it’d pay to keep an eye on him. 

Hill was ready for him, armed with three tablets and smart enough not to try to hand them to him. Fury sipped his coffee and took a long look around his bridge, making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be and working. His Dom sense told him that his sub was kneeling behind him.

“I want Barton’s file updated to reflect his current assignment here.” Fury knew Coulson would check up on Barton at some point. “His punishment is eyes only, and his collaring stays off the books.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Can I ask why, sir?”

“I sure as hell don’t need subs thinking they can pull a Barton and end up in my collar,” Fury growled. “And get him a kneeling pad.”

“Already done.” She might’ve smirked. “Fresh coffee and a light breakfast are on your desk, if you’re finished inspecting the troops.”

“I get nothing but sass from you,” Fury said, turning on his heel and heading straight for more coffee. He had a shit ton of crap to do, but it looked as if Barton would get attention first.

Fury fed them both, one piece at a time, giving him sips of coffee as well. Barton struggled to keep his hands in his lap, not liking it, but that was too damn bad.

“Why don’t you work at the range? Take a turn with my other snipers?”

There was no answer until Barton swallowed. “Agent Bishop said I screwed it all up and refused to let me work anymore.” He didn’t sound proud. “I tried. I did, but the paperwork was confusing.”

“Does he know you read at a fifth-grade level?” Fury wasn’t judgmental about it. Barton’s brain had missed a lot of information as a child.

Barton shrugged, which meant no. Fury sighed and set about fixing it. Part of Barton’s problem was his boredom between assignments. Pulling the tablets closer, Fury dealt with his morning bullshit, made sure through the tech department that Coulson would receive no more emails or texts about Barton, and slowly grew annoyed at Barton’s constant fidgets.

“Do you need to piss?”

Barton flinched. “Yes?”

“Ask and go. Don’t sit there and wiggle.” Fury pointed at his private head through a small door at the back of his office. He waited until the door closed. “Hill, get in here.”

She must’ve been close. “Sir?”

“I’m heading down to the range with Barton.”

“Is this your honeymoon?” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “You’re entitled to one week of vacation time, sir.”

“Damn hilarious.” Fury glowered at her. “Call up Barton’s daily work schedule on this boat, and see if you can spot the problem.”

“Aye, sir.” She marched out at the same time Barton appeared from the bathroom.

“Where’s your phone?” Fury tucked a tablet under his arm and drained his coffee cup.

Barton blinked. “In my duffle. It’s probably dead.”

Fury nodded, surprised Barton hadn’t charged it last night. “Have a charger?”

“Yes.” Barton looked cautious, as if he were being led into a trap. After a long second, he added, “Sir.”

“Let’s go.” Fury was beginning to think that Barton had no idea how to be a sub. He probably thought it was about sex. Having no parents after the age of six probably had something to do with this, and Fury had no doubt that Barton had only seen terrible Doms before coming to SHIELD. Barton trailed him down to the range, looking surprised when they got there. There was no one shooting, and Fury was glad for the lack of witnesses.

“Agent Bishop,” Fury said, “I’d like a word while Agent Barton begins his usual routine.”

“The one where he shoots a few arrows, or the one where he runs around and causes trouble,” Bishop grumbled.

“Arrows,” Fury said, careful not to look at Barton. It didn’t take long, and Barton was at the other end of the range, and to all appearances, enjoying himself. Fury took a long step to put himself right inside Bishop’s comfort zone. “He needs a mentor. Someone to teach him, not criticize him.”

“I tried,” Bishop ground out. “Young man thinks he knows everything.”

“I know you, Rick. You spent five minutes going over the paperwork, complained about incompetence, and then took a cigarette break. Of course, he failed.” Fury kept his tone low and even. “He’s the damn best sniper in the world, but he needs you to guide him, not be a jackass.”

Bishop looked down at his boots and grimaced. “He’s a lot of work.”

“Are you that old?” Fury laughed at the dirty look. “He’ll be here at eight every morning. That’s your busiest time and you could use some help. Get off your ass, you old fart.”

“God, I hate you.” Bishop full out glared at him. “Two hours, no more, not until some of his enthusiasm wears off.”

“Deal.” Fury strolled down to watch Barton shoot, answering a few emails on his tablet while the arrows flew.

“You told him I’m stupid, right? That I can barely read?” Barton’s eyes blazed in anger when he turned from the target. “Have some pity on the retard?”

“You certainly do have trust issues.” Fury looked back down to the target. “Thirty-two million Americans can’t read at all. The average American reads at a seventh-grade level. Shield paperwork is geared towards high school graduates because that’s what we see the most of. Did you know there are several good on-line programs that can increase your reading level?”

“I’m fine,” Barton snarled.

“If you aren’t happy with it, change it.” Fury handed his tablet to Barton, stepped up to the line, and drew his gun. He emptied his clip into the center of the target, strangely satisfied as arrows dropped to the floor. Quickly, he reloaded and re-holstered his gun. “Well?”

“Your left shoulder rides a little high, so your spread pulls.” Barton clutched the tablet like an old woman with her purse. “Could be your lack of an eyeball.”

“Are you saying I’m blind? That I’m incompetent? That I should take my disabled ass home and sit on the sofa?” Fury grinned.

“You’re not subtle. I get it.” Barton sighed. “Coulson nagged at me to work on it.”

“Well, that guy’s an idiot. Don’t listen to him.” Fury gently took his tablet back. “Clean that mess up, ask Agent Bishop if there’s anything you can do to help, and then catch up with me in my office.”

A slow smile broke out over Barton’s face.

“One step out of line and I’ll put you over my knee.” Fury was an expert on dramatic exits, and he made one now, not giving Barton time to think of a sassy comeback. Bishop tossed him a sloppy salute, and Fury returned it.

Hill was ready for him when he hit the bridge. “Barton has no responsibilities.”

“And we wonder why he gets in trouble. Make him a schedule. I want him at the range for two hours, starting at eight, and then cycle him through the cafeteria, the hanger, topside, and finish on the bridge.” Fury poured some more coffee. He needed it. “If he even looks bored, switch things up. Also, make sure he goes to the next level in medical. I want him certified for field rescue.”

“How about flight training while I’m at it?” she asked with remarkable sarcasm.

“Good idea. He’s fearless.” Fury put his butt in his chair. “Any of our other snipers in this situation?”

“I’ll check and fix it if they are.” Hill sighed and leaned against the doorway. “You like him.”

“I hate to see talent wasted, and that’s what we’re doing. What chaps my ass is that I have to deal with it. Don’t I have people who are supposed to oversee training and schedules?” Fury narrowed his eye at her.

“If you don’t, then I’ll find some.” She would get it done. He was sure of it. “Coulson’s going to be furious.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Go work. Leave this old man alone.”

********

Clint’s phone went right to voice mail, which wasn’t unusual, but after the number of texts Coulson had received from other agents with Barton in the subject line, it was unsettling. It was entirely possible that Clint had landed himself in the brig. Taking a deep breath, he violated two SHIELD policies. First, he reviewed Clint’s latest assignment, relieved to see that he was on the helicarrier, and then, he pinged Clint’s exact location, based on his shoulder transponder.

He was at the range, probably teasing Agent Bishop and firing arrows into the ceiling. Coulson was a little lightheaded from relief. He shut his laptop, stowed it in his briefcase, and went to finish dressing for the funeral. When this was over, he’d track Clint down and apologize for how he’d handled the situation.

It might not make a difference, but his honor demanded it. He been taught that his sub’s needs came first, and being tired was no excuse for forgetting that.

His cell phone chimed, and he scooped it up. “Coulson.”

“How many rules would you break for him?” Fury’s voice was smooth as silk.

“All of them,” Coulson answered without thinking.

“After he refused your collar?”

Coulson flushed, glad no one could see him. “I never offered him one.”

“Why the hell not? Scared of those hives?” Fury sighed. “Stop fretting. He’s fine. Agent Bishop has taken Barton under his wing.”

That was extremely difficult to believe. “You’re kidding, right?”

“And Agent Hill is taking an interest in Barton’s future.”

The words sent a shiver down Coulson’s spine. “I’ll be returning to the helicarrier after the funeral.” He bit out the words.

“You have an assignment. Wait there for instructions.” Fury paused. “You do still take orders?”

Squeezing the phone, Coulson went with the truth. “I screwed up, Nick. I need to make it right with him.”

“That’s not what happened. You had needs he wasn’t willing to meet. Not then. Stop being so damn dramatic.”

“I should’ve paid attention to his needs, not mine.”

“That’s not how it works, not every time.” Fury laughed. “I never thought I’d give dating advice, but Cheese, you need to stop pulling Barton’s ass from the fire every time he screws up. How else is he going to learn how to be a better agent?”

Coulson wanted to curse at his friend, tell him to butt out, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Give the family my condolences.” 

“Will do,” Coulson managed to say. He hung up, put his phone on silent, and took deep breaths until his temper faded. Fury might be right, but collar or no collar, Clint belonged to him. No one knew it, not even Clint, but that didn’t change the truth.

********

Clint stood in the shower and scrubbed until he couldn’t smell his own sweat. He ached in strange places, like his heels, from standing in front of an over-loaded stainless-steel sink.

“Feeling okay, submissive?”

“Sure.” Clint snapped off the hot water. He’d had lots of bad days in his life, and this one made the cut, but only barely, and he sure as hell wouldn’t whine about it.

“You did good today. Stayed on task.”

Swallowing down the urge to snap and snarl, Clint got out of the shower and took the towel Fury offered him. “Thanks.”

“I know you’re talking about the towel.” Fury’s big body took up a lot of room in the small bathroom. He leaned against the door. “Maybe a food fight is a little less fun after washing dishes part of the day.”

Not knowing what words to say that wouldn’t earn him a beating, Clint scrubbed himself dry, slowly becoming aware that he was naked, vulnerable. He looked up, and Fury was right there. His mouth went dry, and he hated that he started to shiver. After all, it’d been three days, he should’ve guessed it’d be now.

Fury had the right to fuck him.

Clint wasn’t scared, damn it. He shifted his eyes down, but he was fine, and he’d be fine afterwards.

“Did you eat?” Fury’s voice was pitched low.

A lie started from Clint’s mouth, but he made the mistake of glancing up into Fury’s face. Fury should’ve looked mean, scornful. He didn’t. He looked concerned.   

“No.” Clint’s stomach took that moment to growl its upset at the situation. “Sir.”

“I got pizza.” Fury might’ve smiled, just a little. He opened the door and was gone, quick enough to leave Clint with a gaping mouth. Clint scooted for some sweat pants and a T-shirt but didn’t bother with socks, throwing aside his pride to dash towards the table. He slid to his knees and opened his eyes wide, trying to look pitiful. Fury laughed. “No wonder Coulson always gives you everything.”

The words shocked Clint to his core. “He threw me out,” he whispered, wanting the words back immediately. His stomach now rebelled at the idea of food.

Shifting his chair slightly, Fury pushed a piece of sausage pizza towards Clint’s face. “No. He asked you to take care of him, be his mate instead of a toy, and you ran out of his apartment like your ass was on fire. Chew.”

Clint did as he was told, but he didn’t believe what Fury was saying. It hadn’t happened that way.

“Stop looking more stubborn than a mule. I watched the surveillance video.” Fury made him take another bite before starting on his own piece. “If you didn’t want a real Dom, that’s your damn right, but don’t blame him for asking for some care and consideration after a miserable op.”

The words piling up in Clint’s head made no sense. He took another bite without tasting it, trying to think, find the answer. “You have surveillance in Coulson’s apartment?”

Fury handed him an entire piece. Clint let it sit in his hands for a moment before starting to gnaw on it. It was clear Fury wasn’t going to answer him, and really, it wasn’t a surprise. SHIELD liked to keep an eye on everyone and everything. Clint had worked on his apology today while he was scrubbing dishes, but he hadn’t gotten much past ‘sorry’ and ‘so sorry.’ He continued to eat, but he thought back to the other night, trying to remember Phil’s exact words.

“Can I see the footage?” Clint asked, frustrated that the only thing he remembered was his scramble to leave. “I blew up his kitchen,” he mumbled.

“I sent a crew to fix it. Charged it to you.” Fury smirked.

Mouth full of pizza, Clint swallowed hard. He didn’t give a shit about the money, but Fury had cleaned up Clint’s mess, and that meant something. “I would’ve done it,” he whispered, but he knew that sentiment meant nothing. Phil never would’ve allowed him to do it. Clint sighed. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Hell, son, you owe me more than you can count.” Fury laughed. “Finish eating. Go to bed. You have a long day ahead tomorrow. Charge your phone tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint finished the slice, accepted with ill grace the napkin Fury wiped him with, and got moving towards his end of the bed. He knew he shouldn’t, but he felt safe there. Leaving the light on, he curled up tight under the comforter and flexed his feet several times. His ankles shouldn’t be sore, but washing dishes was harder than it looked. It was a dirty job, and he had a lot more respect now for the men and women who worked in the cafeteria.

After a moment, he realized he still hadn’t charged his phone, and he climbed out of bed to fetch it from his duffle bag. It took a moment to find the charger and an outlet. The phone had about two percent left, and he opened his e-mail client without thinking.

There were a hundred and seven unread messages. A lot of them seemed to be congratulations on his new collar, and none of them were the one person he wanted to hear from. He put the phone down and went to bed, but tomorrow, he would find some words to send to Coulson. To Phil. To his Dom. Fury’s collar around his neck didn’t change the truth. He belonged to Phil.

********

After finishing the pizza, Fury went to check on his submissive. He never wanted this responsibility, but he was willing to admit it felt good to take care of someone. Even someone like Barton, who would rather be beaten than accept a tiny bit of kindness from him. Fury had to admit, Barton loved Coulson, even if the two of them were too stupid to know it.

Barton was in bed, phone charging by the wall, and Fury snapped off the lights before going back to the living room. He flipped on the TV for some noise and found his phone. “Call Cheese.”

Coulson picked up on the first ring. “I hate you.”

“I know that.” Fury grinned. “How’s Egypt?”

“Crowded. I’ve called Clint’s phone six times, no answer.”

“You’re pathetic.” Fury knew Coulson would only be stalled for a short amount of time. “You want me to go remind him to charge it?”

There was a long moment of silence in which Fury knew Coulson was considering cursing at him, and then, “I guess he’s angry.”

“The little shit is busy. Hill put him to work in the cafeteria to make up for a food fight that he started.” Fury pushed her under the bus without a qualm. “You angry?”

“Not at him.”

“I’m angry at him. Thought about shooting him in the leg.” Fury hoped someday they’d have a conversation that wasn’t about Barton. “He left you in the lurch when you needed him.”

“He’s damaged. He needs time to heal.”

Fury couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling, even the one under the patch. Thing was: it was true, but it was also not getting any better with Coulson’s hands-off approach. “What he needs is a strong Dom who will enforce some rules and hold him through the consequences. If that’s not you, I respect it.”

Coulson was quiet so long that Fury suspected their friendship was done.

“Maybe it’s not me.”

The words were full of ache and misery, and Fury nearly pounded his forehead into his phone. “Cheese, get some rest. You can deal with Barton when you get back in a month.”

“Sure.” Coulson sighed. “Thanks, Nick.” He hung up, and Fury nearly tossed his phone against the wall. If he managed to fix this, it’d be a miracle. He’d have to control every facet of what was becoming Operation Stupid Idiots. He went to his computer and sent another email to the tech guys. Instead of blocking calls and texts, now every text or email to or from Barton and Coulson would hit Fury’s computer first for approval.

Disgusted with all the bullshit, he went to bed. He’d deal with this all again after five hours of sleep.

********

The Egyptian branch of SHIELD needed work, lots of work. SHIELD didn’t have that many branch offices, mostly short-term sites, but so many artifacts came through Luxor both legally and illegally that SHIELD set up a shop back in the Fifties.

Coulson was fairly sure the place hadn’t been upgraded since then, and Fury was a real bastard for sending Coulson here. Coulson took one look at what he faced, and knew he wouldn’t walk away until the place was organized. And Fury knew that, too.

Staring down at his phone, Coulson cursed his inability to run away from a mess. He supposed it’d gotten him into trouble with Clint as well. Clint must hate him by now, otherwise there would’ve been phone calls and texts. Remembering that he’d deleted everything twice, he groaned.

“I screwed it up. Clint deserves better.” Coulson squared his shoulders, smoothed down his tie, and got to work. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could return to his life in Washington D.C. and the mess he’d left there.

********

Clint slipped out of bed while Fury was still snoring and bee-lined to his phone. So quietly, he unhooked it and snuck away to the kitchen. He started the coffee and started thumbing through his messages, texts, and snapchats. Ruthlessly, he deleted everything with the word ‘collar’ in it. He grimaced at the numerous snapchats of people laughing at him, and after far too many, he deleted the app to make it stop.

The coffee gurgled at him, and he wanted to throw his phone against the wall. Not one message from Coulson, and given that someone had to have told him about the collar, the answer was clear. Coulson hated him. The collar was a betrayal, even if Clint hadn’t had a choice about it.

Okay.

There’d been a choice.

“Pour me a cup, will ya?” Fury jolted Clint out of his thoughts, and he poured his Dom a cup without thinking and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

“I’m quitting Shield,” Clint said, meaning it to the bottom of his heart.

Fury didn’t take his lips off the cup until he’d swallowed several times. “You just now thought of that, didn’t you?”

Clint flushed, not expecting the question. “Yes.”

Fury’s one eye squinted at him, and Clint had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what Fury had to say. “Without paying your debts? Huh. I thought you were a good agent – a little screwed up when it came to Coulson – and I never pegged you for a quitter.”

Not knowing what to say was Clint’s superpower. He ran his hand through his hair and pulled. “I’m a good agent!”

“Damn right.”

“I don’t want this collar! Coulson will never forgive me!”

“Wrong. Coulson will never forgive me, now, drink your coffee and get moving. Hill has added some medical training to your day. Should take you about two weeks to finish that, and then you’re up for flight training.”

Clint’s brain skidded in a circle, and he felt like he’d had all the wind knocked out of him. Fury’s hands landing on Clint’s shoulders felt like hot brands, and he looked up before sinking to his knees, nearly banging into the kitchen cabinets.

“Breathe. Settle.”

It shouldn’t have worked. Clint should’ve run, but the words and the mere presence of a strong body next to him helped him grab control of his emotions. He breathed like Fury directed, and the spots in front of his eyes faded. He shuddered, thinking his entire world had just been upended. Leaning his head onto Fury’s strong thigh, he admitted that he needed this, but Fury wasn’t the man Clint wanted to give it to him.

“Better? Get up.” Fury helped him stand and steadied him. “Steady?”

“Yeah.” Clint leaned into him, needing the contact. “I’m not a quitter, just a screw up.”

“You wanted Coulson to punish you, force you to behave, collar you.” Fury held him loosely. “In your crazy brain, it would be his fault if it went to shit, not yours.”

“Thanks.” Clint nudged him away and scrubbed his face with his hands. He took several deeper breaths. “Flight training, really?”

“Really. Now, listen.” Fury tapped him on the forehead. “Did you miss the part where I told you this collar is a punishment? Punishments end.”

Nodding, Clint pretended to understand, but he needed time to think it all through. “You’re not going to rape me?” The words blurted out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he wanted to curl down again. Fury stopped him and held him until the shakes went away. Clint felt like he should shove him away, storm off, but… it seemed immature, even stupid. “Fury?”

“Never crossed my mind. This collar isn’t about that.” Fury set him away. “Figure it out, Clint. Being a submissive is about strength and compassion, not crazy sex and spankings.”

“Those are fun,” Clint said, but it came out more as a whisper. He nodded. “Medical training, huh?” He needed to not think about all of this for a few minutes.

“Right after the range and kitchen duty. Keep your phone with you. Move it.” Fury poured himself another cup of coffee. Clint stared, not sure what had happened this morning. Fury stared back at him. “You need a swat on the ass to get you moving?”

“No, sir.” Clint bolted. He’d have plenty of time to think while he was helping at the range and washing dishes.

********

Fury didn’t rush through his coffee. That situation had nearly blown up in his face, and he needed some time to play it back and make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. Handling Barton was like juggling chainsaws, and he had a much better appreciation of Coulson’s expertise now. Barton probably would’ve been thrown out of SHIELD by now, if it hadn’t been for Coulson’s steadying influence.

A knock on his door made him sigh. “Come!”

Hill peeked inside, eyebrows up. “Still in your robe, sir? Are you ill?”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll put you in charge today.” Fury drained his mug and placed it down carefully. “Push Barton hard for the next month, but vet the Doms he’ll be training under. No assholes. Barton’s on the edge of figuring it out, and I don’t want him jumping the wrong way.”

“Will do.” Hill gave him a cheeky grin. “Every sub on board envies him.”

“Right. Like I have time for that crap. Go the fuck away.” Fury strode towards the bathroom. So much shit to do, but when lunch came around, he prowled to the flight deck to stand and watch. Barton had been put to work, sorting through medkits to make sure they were fully stocked. Fury crossed his arms and waited.

It wasn’t sixty seconds and the flight deck chief was headed Fury’s way, and she stopped next to him, following his line of sight. “Barton’s been a help. I was skeptical, but he hasn’t pulled any pranks. Yet.”

Fury wasn’t willing to make any promises. Barton side-eyed the both of them and hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to do. Fury raised his voice. “Finish up, and then meet me in the cafeteria.”

“Yes, sir!” Barton started moving faster.

“Collaring was good--.”

“Stop right there.” Fury glared at her hard enough to make her cringe. “That collar is a punishment. Nothing good about it. Barton’s a fine agent. Always has been.”

“Yes, sir,” she choked out. “I’m needed… over there.” She got moving, and Fury wondered how many people on this boat had been dumb enough to think he’d collared Barton out of love, or lust. He also highly doubted that even a love collar would take all the sass out of Barton, which was fine by him.

By the time Fury sat down at a table in the cafeteria, servers started bringing his favorites, and he made sure there was plenty for his submissive. It wasn’t long before Barton swaggered through the door, eyes darting, and his bravado didn’t mask his anxiety at showing his face in the cafeteria. That answered the question of whether Barton was eating regularly. Coulson was going to be angry enough, god forbid Barton lose weight. Fury stood, silencing half the cafeteria by his mere presence, and Barton stopped right in front of him.

Barton had a look like he’d rather be struck in the face than kneel. Fury nodded in approval. “Sit with me, submissive.”

“Yes, sir.” Barton looked relieved for a split second, and then hid it with a grin. “You got the meatloaf? You’re a brave soul, sir.”

“Shut up. It’s delicious.” They sat together, and Fury stayed in charge, feeding him bites of this and that but allowing him a fork of his own. Barton didn’t say all that much, and Fury wasn’t in the mood for a bunch of small talk. He did say, “You text Coulson?”

Barton’s eyes grew wide. “No,” he said in a quiet voice. “He’s got to be done with me.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t deserve anything from him.”

“But does he deserve something from you?”

Red flushed its way up Barton’s neck. He put the fork down. “How long is my punishment?”

“Have you repaid your debt?” Fury hoped Barton was growing up a little, but there was no telling.

With a shake of his head, Barton managed to shrug at the same time. “Why is the collar red? And it’s heavy and smells weird.”

“You’re a whiner.” Fury reached and tilted Barton’s head back. He almost laughed at the irony when he saw the rash on Barton’s neck. With one flick, he pulled the magnets apart and let the collar slide off. “Head to medical and get something for that rash.”

Barton’s hand flew to his neck. “I knew it!” he crowed.

Fury lost it. He laughed. “Go on. Then get to your training. I want you in my office afterwards.”

“Yes, sir.” Barton smirked.

“And wipe that smirk off your face. Coulson wouldn’t like it.”

The air went out of Barton like a balloon. He left with a near pout on his face, and Fury took his time eating, finishing his meat loaf and coffee. The boy needed structure, love, and a push. Fury was happy provide two of those.

********

Something pressed into Phil’s cheek, causing enough discomfort to wake him up, and he peeled the paperclip off before putting his head on his arms. When he’d been assigned here for a month, he’d been sure he could get the work down in twenty days. He’d forgotten that Fury knew exactly how much he could accomplish. A normal agent would’ve finished in forty-five days, and Phil was right on track to finish on time at thirty days. Damn Fury.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it, hating the hope in his heart.

*******

The phone felt like a brick in Clint’s hand, but it was time to hit send. The medical instructor had turned them loose – a small class of three – of which Clint was the only submissive, but it been fine, even good. Now, he was heading to Fury’s office, right after he sent this text. He sighed, shut his eyes, and pressed send.

********

The text flashed onto Fury’s screen, and he studied it, thinking through every possible scenario and misinterpretations before editing out the last sentence and letting it go on its way to Coulson’s phone. A small noise made him look up, and Barton was coming through the door. Fury clicked to another screen and nudged the pad near the corner of his desk with his boot. Barton took the hint, kneeling without a word, eyes properly downwards. Fury put his hand on Barton’s shoulder and gave a squeeze.

********

_I’m sorry_

That was all the text said. Phil read it six times, appreciating both words, but wanting so much more. He quickly tapped out a response, and then deleted it, and then twice more, before sitting back with a groan. What he needed was some intel on the situation. Barton’s usual texts rambled, sometimes needing two sends to get his message across. All Phil had was two words, no period, and he needed to know exactly what was going on with his submissive.

First, he got a cup of coffee from a machine that needed to be thrown in a dumpster. Fortified with sludge, he shut his office door, not that anyone else was in the building, but it still was a good idea, and made the call.

“You’ve reached the phone of Maria Hill. Leave a message at the tone.”

Phil hung up instead. A little reluctantly, he called Jasper.

“You’ve reached the phone of Jasper Sitwell. Leave a message at the tone.”

That was all it took to wake Phil completely up. Twice was a coincidence, but three times was a conspiracy. He punched in the next number, knowing what he’d hear. Fury had blocked him. That bastard. Clint wasn’t refusing to take Phil’s calls. All of Phil’s calls to the helicarrier were being re-routed to nowhere. Staring down at his phone in betrayal, Phil let himself get thoroughly angry.

*******

Fury had known it would happen. He’d hoped to have another week, but Coulson was always an overachiever. Not even glancing at Barton, who looked half-asleep, Fury picked up his phone. “Call Cheese.”

Putting the phone down flat, he left the speakers on.

“You have crossed a goddamn line, Nick.”

“I need you focused there.” Fury could hear him breathing, and that was a bad sign. “And if you shoot your phone, I’m not authorizing another one until your birthday.”

“The FBI offers me a job every year.”

“And every year you’re smart enough not to go down that path.” Fury could practically feel the tension radiating off Barton’s body. “Get that job done. It’s ten years overdue. If anything important happens here, I’ll call you.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” Coulson growled into the phone, and Fury saw Barton shudder, mouth dropping slightly open. “You can’t control everything.”

“Watch me try.” Fury smiled as he disconnected. “Barton, head to our quarters, shower, and present yourself in the traditional manner.”

“Shit,” Barton whispered, but he got to his feet, graceful as ever, and started for the door. He turned back and opened his mouth like he might say something. Fury pointed. Barton got the message and left without a word. When he was gone, Fury leaned back in his chair. It could’ve gone worse.

********

Mindful that Fury never lied about phones, Phil placed it in his pocket before he threw it against the wall. He paced, kicking his chair several times and hating his friend with a passion. Fury had no business meddling in Phil’s relationship with Clint.

None.

And that’s what this was. All this focus on work talk was crap, just a blind so Phil left Clint alone. Why Clint needed to be left alone was the question that made Phil stop kicking things and slump down in his chair.

It was barely possible that Fury saw something going on with Clint that required an intervention. Fury hated relationships of any sort, so this was a long shot, but it was possible. Clint had screwed up big, and instead of letting Phil handle it quietly, Fury had taken over the situation.

Phil sat up straight, eyes blown wide. “You asshole,” he growled.

********

Masturbating furiously before a presentation was probably against the rules, but Clint in no way cared. Hearing Phil growl was too damn sexy, and Clint wanted to hear it again. Maybe a growl in his ear, or against his skin as he submitted to Phil’s every desire.

Or maybe just a tiny growl over a shared lunch, or a cup of coffee, that would be enough, and 

Clint came hard, knees shaking as he put a hand against the tiled wall to steady himself. He needed that so badly. These days with Fury had shown Clint some things about collaring that he hadn’t realized, and he wanted all of it with Phil.

Deep breaths and he cleaned inside and out before snapping off the water. He toweled off roughly, leaving his hair to stand on end. Goosebumps broke out, and he shivered a little. He wasn’t scared, but he was worried. Fury wouldn’t hurt him. Clint was sure of that. Everything else was unknown. Sure, he’d heard of a presentation, but no one had ever filled him in on the exact details, and he’d never googled it because no one was ever going to collar him.

Clint thought he heard the door shut in the living room, so he got moving that way, and sure enough, Fury was near the sofa. He turned, hands going to his hips, and Clint swallowed hard, wanting to cover his dick.

“You have no idea what to do, right?”

Fury’s tone wasn’t harsh. Clint shrugged. “Didn’t have time to google it.”

“This is the thing.” Fury sighed and swung off his leather coat to hang by the door. “Coulson is traditional. He likes the drama that goes with a collar.”

That made no sense whatsoever. Clint stared at him. “And…?”

“You need to learn to properly present yourself to your Dom. Unfortunately, I’m the one to have to teach you.” Fury pointed a finger at him. “Bathroom. We’ll start at the top and work our way down.”

“Why?” Clint tilted his head, not moving an inch. “Coulson hates me for what I did, or didn’t do. He hasn’t even answered my text.”

“Submissive, Coulson is going to storm onto this boat, punch me in the face, and collar you. Get it?” Fury sounded damn sure. “Yet?”

Clint hoped Fury was right, and that brought him up short. “I still have a chance?”

********

“I hate this job,” Fury muttered, swinging for Barton’s naked ass, and Barton darted for the bathroom. Fury followed right behind, taking off his gun so he didn’t accidentally pump a round into Barton’s leg. He put the gun on his bed and took a steadying breath. Coulson wouldn’t actually kill him, but he was going to watch his back for a year or more.

A disgusted noise in the bathroom got him moving that way. He made Barton stand still with a glance and dug out his clippers from the bottom drawer. “Stand still and you won’t end up bald.”

“Whoa. Whoa!”

“Bald, it is then.” Fury turned them on and the buzzing noise seemed to make Barton freeze. Carefully, because he respected Coulson’s property, Fury trimmed Barton’s hair short on the sides and left some length on top. Then he took a towel and got the extra hair off Barton’s neck. “Comb it. And stop looking like I killed you.”

Barton fiddled with it forever, but it looked better. Fury sighed. “Now, trim the hair in your ears, nose, and shave like you mean it.”

“I don’t have ear hair!”

“Not yet.” Fury needed a drink. “I’ll wait for you in the living room. Stay naked.” He knew he had to say it, or Barton would get dressed in a blink. He went to get a double. About the time he finished it, Barton came slinking in, body language all over the place. Fury wanted more whiskey. “Stand straight, stop fidgeting, and try to look confident.”

“Can’t see that happening,” Barton muttered, but he made an attempt.

“Okay, check your elbows.”

“What?”

“Elbows and knees. Are they rough as sandpaper? Have you heard of lotion? Also, trim your nails, hands and feet. You look like a damn hobo, Barton!”

“Coulson won’t care!” Barton exploded.

“Really? You sure?” Fury calmly looked up at him. Barton held the gaze for about two seconds and then crumbled. Fury nodded. “Trim your pubic hair. You look like a hedgehog. Does he like chest hair? Does your underarm hair hit him in the face when you two fuck?”

“Are you just having fun, or is that what I’m supposed to do?” Barton whined.

“A presentation for your Dom means you are at your very best in appearance and attitude. You kneel and wait. If he puts out his hand, you take it and thank him for his attention.” Fury could see Barton’s frustration. “Oh, sit the fuck down. We’ll watch a YouTube video.”

Barton nodded. “Finally.”

“Your generation is hopeless.” Fury went to get his laptop and let Barton watch several presentation videos. “Better?”

“This is a lot of work. What if he doesn’t notice?”

“Coulson?” Fury smirked. “Not notice something?”

“You win.” Barton stomped off to the bathroom. Fury waited until he was gone before laughing. He fiddled with paperwork on the laptop until Barton reappeared. Fury eased to his feet and prowled around him, pushing him with dominance until the submissive flopped down to his knees.

“Not acceptable. Flow to your knees, don’t slump. It’s disrespectful.” Fury’s hand itched to bop him on the head. “To your Dom. Now, I don’t give a shit, but you disrespect Coulson, and I will stick my boot up your ass.”

At the mention of Coulson, Barton changed his posture and after a few adjustments looked perfect. Fury walked around him twice. “Better, but your heels look like sandpaper. Go try again.”

Barton looked up and grimaced. “Damn it!”

It felt like hours later when Barton finally looked like someone who deserved to be presented. Fury made him practice kneeling ten times, trying to take the sass out of him. It didn’t work, but it’d been worth a try.

“So, I just wait? Even if he takes my hand?” Barton furrowed his brow.

“Exactly. He’s the Dom.” Fury almost rolled his eyes. He motioned Barton to stand while digging in a pocket. “One more thing. Your neck is healed.”

“Oh, come on!” Barton actually pouted. Fury had picked this collar with the sole intention of making Coulson furious. It was silver, thick and wide, bejeweled, and heavy enough to make a submissive aware of its presence every minute of the day. Barton raised his chin, and Fury clicked it on while looking him in the eye. Barton didn’t look down. “You’re trying to piss him off.”

“Yes, I am.” Fury smiled. “Now, take your skinny ass to bed.” He turned away, not watching him leave the room. It wasn’t that Fury wanted a submissive. He didn’t. They were a shit ton of work and worry, and he had an entire agency to look after, but sometimes it’d be… not awful. He finished his drink, shut down the laptop, and went to bed, ignoring the submissive at the end of it.

********

The meeting was taking forever, and nestled against Coulson’s thigh his phone was buzzing at almost regular intervals. It was impolite to take it out, and impolite to fidget. He folded his hands in front of him and started pushing everyone with his dominance. It was a dick move. He no longer cared. It was far past time to go home and claim his submissive.

When he finally got everyone moving in the same direction with tasks that would further his leaving, he yanked his phone out and stared.

Sixty messages about Clint and nearly all of them had photo attachments. He opened the first one with a real sense that he wasn’t going to like what he saw.

“Nick, you fucker.”

********

Dish duty was a thing of the past. Now, Clint worked four hours a day in the Armory because it was the time of year everyone had to be re-certified. Once or twice he’d wished for the peace and quiet of his dishes before remembering that he’d hated that job.

Agent Bishop made him do everything, and Clint was surprisingly okay with that. It felt good to be useful, accomplish things, and not just feel like a screw up. He didn’t screw it up, not anymore, not since Bishop had given him hours of training. Clint had been suspicious and resentful at first, but Bishop had just rolled his eyes and told stories about the old days when Fury had made him set up the range and what a disaster it’d been.

Somehow, Clint learned how to do it, even the computer. One thing Clint knew for sure, Fury had forced Bishop to give him training. It colored his opinion of the old man, not in a bad way, but Clint would always be cautious around him.

After the range, Clint reported to the hanger deck to begin flight training. He’d passed the medical exam with good scores, and he felt much more confident that he could help someone if he was needed. Now, the mere thought of flying a quinjet made him want to grin, but he had to play it down, not act eager. That always got him in trouble.

“Fury collared you like a treasured sub. What gives, Barton?”

Clint didn’t even glance at the trainee standing next to him, but the idea wasn’t a new one. The collar was expensive, and Clint wondered if Coulson would care, and if Clint could ever make up for all the shit he’d pulled.

Hours later, Clint knelt down on his pad by Fury’s knee and bowed his head in exhaustion, not submission. His brain actually hurt, and he had to try to remember a good portion of the things he’d learned today.

“Food is a requirement, Barton.”

“I ran late at the range.” Clint wasn’t making an excuse. It was just a fact. “I’ll try harder.”

“See that you do.” Fury picked up his phone and ordered a food tray. Clint didn’t look up when it was delivered, but he heard the snick of a camera phone. Fury made no comment, feeding Clint with one hand while he worked on his laptop with the other. Clint vaguely remembered a day when he would’ve fought against this tooth and nail, but now it all seemed stupid.

“I guess I’m broken now, huh?” Clint was pretty sure he wouldn’t get an answer. “Soon, I’ll be a stay-at-home sub, cooking and cleaning, kneeling by the door for my secret agent husband.”

Fury snorted. “Flight training is tough, but not that hard.” He wiped Clint’s mouth without looking. “You’ve just figured it out.”

“What?” Clint took the mug of coffee handed his way.

“That you’re a submissive. If it helps, I had a complaint from your instructor today. Apparently, you were too enthusiastic with the equipment.”

“I only broke it a little,” Clint muttered. “Cheap ass shit.”

Laughing, Fury shut the laptop. “Let’s go for a stroll.”

“If I gotta.” Clint tried to sound sassy, but he was sure he sounded tired instead. He sighed at the leash but fell into position at Fury’s shoulder. “You think Coulson would ever do this with me?” he blurted.

No answer, just a look that Clint wanted to interpret as a ‘duh.’ No matter what Fury had said, it didn’t seem possible that Coulson would want him. That _Phil_ would want him. For anything at all. Clint had been screwing stuff up his entire life, but what he’d done to Phil had been wrong. Being raised by circus freaks was no excuse.

Funny how it only took being dragged around on a leash by Fury to teach him better. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that funny. At all. He flowed to his knees when Fury stopped on the bridge, giving a full-on glare to a junior officer who was grinning at him.

“Something funny, Hastings?” Fury snarled.

Hastings went blank, back to work, eyes straight ahead. “No, sir.”

Fury snorted, and Clint made sure his gaze was where it belonged. Hill wandered in their direction, and Clint did his best to respect his Dom while not listening. His brain was tired and doing nothing but following the simple instructions from Fury allowed him to zone out. The idle thought that he trusted Fury flitted through his mind. It probably wasn’t a good thing.

Of course, Coulson trusted Fury, so maybe Clint could make an exception this one time.

“Need help getting him to bed?”

“He’s fine.”

********

After the anger of seeing the first image of Clint on his knees, collared and exhausted, faded from white-hot to a dull roar, Coulson was able to think clearly enough to know that he still had a job to finish. And he would. He didn’t sleep, barely ate, and rode his minions like rented mules, kicking them nearly every painful step of the way. Metaphorically, of course.

The agent he left in charge turned slightly pale when Coulson promised to return in three months for a review. Coulson considered that progress, threw his clothes in his bag, and chartered a plane to another plane and then took a helicopter to a small base where he waited impatiently for a quinjet.

Oh, Fury was going to pay.

********

Fury was many things, but he liked to think that ‘fool’ wasn’t one of them. And waiting for Coulson to slug him in the face constituted the act of an idiot. Also, it wouldn’t be good for morale. Fury reviewed the work done in Egypt, pleased to see that Coulson had done his best while furious. Coulson was on his way here now. If the security footage at that last depot was accurate, Coulson was mad as hell and exhausted. He looked as if he’d lost weight, and there were bags under his eyes.

“Sector eight is requesting a quinjet for a pickup. Should I authorize?” Hill could’ve used her goddamn phone, but she liked strolling in his office and sassing him.

“When Agent Coulson debarks, escort him to interrogation room four and present him for a dominant disciplinary hearing,” Fury said.

“So that’s how you’re playing it. I wondered.” Hill smirked. “Should work.”

“Did I ask your opinion?” Fury hated that he was risking losing his best friend over this bullshit. “Out.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’d be six hours before that quinjet landed, and Barton needed to be in the right headspace. After all this work, Fury wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. If he couldn’t get this done right, he might fire himself.

********

The ramp started its slow descent, and Coulson abandoned his luggage to get moving faster. He had one objective: find Clint. His pulse sped up, and he felt the muscles of his stomach quiver. He wanted his sub, right damn now.

Deputy Director Hill and three members of security met him before he’d taken one step, and he could see from the look on her face that this wasn’t going to go well.

“Where’s my sub?” He ground out the words.

“Agent Coulson, you will be escorted to interrogation room four for a dominant disciplinary hearing. Please, don’t resist, or measures will be taken to ensure you comply.” She didn’t look ashamed.

Coulson managed a deep breath, sucking it in over his teeth and wanting to punch someone. “No.”

“Phil, don’t make me force you.” Hill spread her hands. “You can find Barton afterwards.”

The security guys took a step towards him, and Coulson bared his teeth at them. “They so much as brush up against me, and I’ll liven up the day in the infirmary.”

Hill sighed and nodded. “Two peas in a pod. Follow their orders. Please.”

Her politeness made it impossible to act like more of a jackass than he already was, and he led the way, striding as if it was his decision, not theirs. He knew this was about Clint’s future, not his own. He tossed his coat on the table and started stripping off his filthy shirt. One of the security men took a hesitant shuffle, and Coulson skewered him with a look, forcing him back.

Before he clicked on the manacles, Coulson took a long stretch, even twisting his back. If Fury was in a pissy mood, Coulson could be standing with his arms shackled over his head for a while. One last shake, and he snapped them on, letting out a long breath.

The security guys trailed out of the room, and he settled on his feet, trying to relax his back. “Whenever you’re ready, Director Fury,” Coulson said to the surveillance camera.

********

Fury didn’t make him wait, not on purpose. He had gathered his information this morning, but making sure Clint was where he was supposed to be took an extra minute or two. Finally, Fury strode into the interrogation room, didn’t even glance at his friend, and threw a file on the table.

“Great entrance,” Coulson said.

“I practice.” Fury kept right on talking, not giving Coulson a chance to get snarky. “As a dominant in this organization, you have the right to the comfort from your collared submissive during these proceedings. Is there someone I can get for you?”

 “No,” Coulson growled. The word sounded painful.

“Not even a play collar?” Fury kept his voice even, disinterested.

“You know the answer to that.” Coulson’s voice cracked on the last word.

“You’re a fine agent, which you know, but this hearing isn’t about that. It’s about your behavior as a dominant in this organization.” Fury could see the simmering anger in Coulson’s eyes. “You manipulated paperwork and used inappropriate funds to cover up the misdeeds of a submissive that you had no intention of collaring.”

Coulson blinked. “You know my intentions now?”

Fury pulled the chair around and sat down. “Everyone knows Barton is allergic to collars.” He smirked. Coulson opened his mouth to say something, but Fury talked right over him. “People do dumbass things for love, but you broke the rules for barely a scrap of affection.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Coulson said. “All that matters is that I love him. He doesn’t have to love me back.”

“Sometimes I think for a smart guy, you’re an idiot.” Fury rose to his feet, moved to stand directly in front of Coulson, and waited. Two seconds later, the door crashed open, and Barton threw himself between Fury and Coulson. Barton’s eyes were wide, panicked, and he had a spot of blood on his lip as if he’d left a trail of security guards behind him.

“No! Please.” Barton heaved out a breath, hands up, eyes wide. “Beat me. Beat me all day long, but, please don’t touch him. Not him!”

Fury put his hand on his belt, a not-so-subtle threat. “I shouldn’t have to take time out of my busy day to fix shit like this.”

Barton slid to his knees, practically tucked into Coulson’s groin. “This was all my fault. Not his! He did everything right. I’m a screwup. Please don’t hurt him.”

“Clint, I made the choice to protect you. I’ll take the punishment for my behavior.” Coulson only had eyes for Barton.

Leaning forward, Fury stared deep into Barton’s eyes. “You don’t care.”

“I love him,” Barton whispered, after swallowing hard. “You know that.”

“I’m not the one you should be telling.” Fury put his hand on his collar and tugged it free from Barton’s neck. “Agent Barton, your punishment is over. If I have to make this right again, I’m firing both of you.” Before either of them could think of something else dumbass to say, Fury was out the door, calling Hill to alert medical that Barton had been kicking ass again.

Stupid romantic crap.

********

Clint had those cuffs off in a blink, helping Coulson into the chair against his protests. “God, you’ve lost weight. Did you eat at all in Egypt? You look like hell, sir.”

“Thanks.” Coulson rotated his wrists and tried to understand what had just happened. He was so tired that he felt like his life was blinking in and out. “Clint?”

The submissive dropped to his knees and put his face on Coulson’s thigh. “I am so sorry. I know you hate me, but before you leave, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, so Fury might’ve had a point about me being idiot,” Coulson muttered. He wrapped his arms around Clint and pulled. “I love you, Clint. Yes, I was upset. I was so tired that I spoke out of line.”

After a moment, Clint raised his head. “No. It was my fault. I’m the idiot.”

Coulson could see they’d be arguing about this forever. “He collared you?” Mostly to change the subject, but sooner or later, he’d be speaking to Fury about that.

“It was a punishment collar. It’s in the Director’s Code.” Clint sighed. “I got a rash.” Their eyes met, and they both began to laugh. Clint hugged him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Stop it.” Coulson got to his feet, but Clint stayed down. He extended his hand. “Come on, Clint.”

Clint put his hand in Coulson’s but applied no pressure to get up. “You’ll have me?”

The words triggered something deep in Coulson, and he gave Clint a long stare, meant to convey the seriousness of his answer. “Rise and join my life, submissive.”

“It’d be an honor, dominant,” Clint said. The traditional answer made a lump form in Coulson’s throat. Clint waited until Coulson helped him to stand. Clint grinned. “I didn’t screw it up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Coulson said. He let Clint grab his clothes, and they left the interrogation room together. Coulson subtlety led the way to the quarters he kept on the helicarrier, keeping a hand tucked against Clint’s back. Clint kept shooting glances at him. Even as tired as he was, Coulson knew something fundamental had changed in their relationship. “Are you okay?”

“Just worried I’m dreaming.” Clint smiled, not big and wide, but a small one. “I missed you.”

“Egypt was horrible.” Coulson wasn’t going to sugar coat it. His knees wobbled a little, and Clint tucked in tight, helping him. The contact gave him strength. “Is your neck okay? That collar…”

“The first collar – ugly and thick – gave me a rash. It’s fine. The other collar he just put on me to make you angry.”

“It worked. I’m going to punch him later.” Coulson held him tighter. “A goddamn lover’s collar.”

Clint flinched. “I just thought it was sparkly and stupid. I don’t… really know anything about collars, or… you know, anything. Fury said I was raised by wolves.”

Coulson was offended for both of them. “Punch him hard,” he muttered, glad they were at his door. He put his thumb on the pad, and it was Clint who opened the door for both of them. It was easy to notice the place had been cleaned recently. “I’m looking forward to getting back to our apartment.”

Even tired, Coulson noticed Clint ducking his head. “Let’s get you to bed, or do you need to eat? You definitely need a shower.”

“Wait.” Coulson moved closer and put his hand under Clint’s chin. “Talk to me. We have to try harder in the communications area of our relationship.”

“Fury said we’re both idiots.” Clint tried to look away, but Coulson held him, pushing dominance at him. After a second, Clint nodded, meeting Coulson’s gaze. “I’m in the quinjet flight program. I… like it.”

“Then you’ll stay in it.” Coulson had a feeling that Fury had made some changes to Clint’s schedule, and they weren’t necessarily bad ones. “We can discuss our future after I sleep ten hours.” He smoothed his hand around to Clint’s neck and kissed him. “All of my collars are in Washington.”

“I don’t expect…” Clint whined as Coulson tightened his grip. “But… yeah.”

Coulson threw away his worries that Clint didn’t want him, love him. The proof was in the way Clint flowed to his knees. Coulson considered all the options and thumbed on his phone.

“I need a collar. Yes, we’re a couple of morons. I can wait.” Coulson rolled his eyes, knowing it was fatigue making him juvenile. Clint opened his mouth like he might say something but changed his mind, snapping his mouth shut. Coulson stroked Clint’s hair and said, “But you’re okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

Clint’s answer came back quickly enough to reassure Coulson that it was the truth. “No, he didn’t. I thought he would.”

Reining in his growl, Coulson got the door on the first knock and took the box, shutting the door without delay. He went back to Clint and cracked it open. It was a plain, black leather collar with a small embossed arrow. At the tip of the arrow were the initials, PC. “Okay, I may not punch him too hard.”

Clint’s eyes were big. “It’s beautiful. May I? Would you? Have me?”

Coulson’s heart about burst, and he struggled to find the proper words. “It’d be an honor, submissive.”

“That’s my line.” Clint tilted his neck into the proper position and held still while Coulson put it on him. “Hopefully, no rash!”

Laughing, Coulson pulled him up and kissed him. “Never change, Clint.”

“Of course not. Fury just showed me what I was missing by being an ass.” Clint tugged him towards the bedroom. “Shower. I’ll get you some food.”

“And then I need about a twelve-hour nap.” Coulson enjoyed having his submissive undress him, start the shower, and nudge him inside. It felt good. It felt right, and he could tell Clint was happy to do it. Okay, so Fury had done the right thing for both of them, but Coulson was still going to yell about it later.

********  
Fury waited, not patiently, but he waited until the next morning before cracking open his laptop and checking on them through the security feeds. He’d worked hard, damn it, and if it was going to blow up at the last second, he deserved some sort of warning.

“You take it so well,” Coulson said, a catch in his throat.

Head thrown back, black collar easy to spot, Clint crammed himself down on Coulson’s cock.

Closing the window, Fury grinned where no one could see. He’d done good, and Coulson would still bitch him out later, but that was a successful op.

********  
end


End file.
